A Need to Suffer

Acquiescence

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Chapter Thirty-Two

Acquiescence

The Umbers’ Clydesdales lined the top of the hill pawing at the snow and snorting their urgency to proceed where their riders had halted to survey the scene below. All eyes were narrowed by the midday sun’s reflection deflecting off the pristine freshly fallen blanket of white that covered the once bloodied battle field. It looked almost peaceful and unscathed outside of the remnants of large charred pyres and a surmountable body count of enemy and ally alike set in a row with a foot here and a beard there protruding from their snowy layers due to the bitter wind that blew across the expanse.

Matina glowered bitterly at Lumor stating with a growing frustration, “That sow thinks she’s better than us! We could have cut down the trickle of waste their house has become right then and there for daring show us that kind of disrespect!”

Lamor never deigned to glance over at his sister seemingly lost in thought, but after a moment of silence he responded dryly, “It’s not time yet to act. Dispatching the Starks is a price that we can’t afford to pay. They have enough houses backing them now to form a formidable alliance, and to murder them in the wake of a parlay would be bad form.”

“Bad form?” Matina stated chuckling incredulously as a deepening scowl formed upon her face, “Since when have you given a damn about bad form, Lamor?”

Matina’s statement was enough to engage Lamor, and his head swiveled to face her with an aura of contempt rearing out of her reply, “SmallJon is dead. I have to take his place as eldest in line to succession of our house. These are not worries that ‘you’ will ever need face, but do remember some of us still bear the weight of our family’s honor.”

Lamor’s words were intended to scathe, and Matina bared her teeth angrily in challenge, “Aye, you lead us right and proper, Lamor. I’m standing by watching you make a right cunt of us, and I’m sick to the gills to see it. I don’t rightly give two shits if you want to play some long game with the Starks, but I do want to know what the fuck you plan to do to make it up to our people. In case you forget, our people are the ones that serve us and that really matter over defector Wildling sympathizers. Whatever airs you’re putting on and game you’re playing at isn’t going to hold water if you don’t have an answer to the shit storm you just waded through.”

Lamor’s lips pursed in agitation knowing Matina was right but not willing to state as much just to give her the benefit of the doubt. Instead, Lamor countered, “It’s not your problem. Leave matters of import to me. Don’t think I didn’t observe the exchange you had with Lady Stark; I see what you’re really getting at. It’s not so simple as getting your blade wet over a little debate where you feel slighted, so for once in your damn life take a step back and let your betters assess the damage.”

Matina’s eyes narrowed hatefully at Lamor, but she didn’t respond. When Lamor had made up his mind, he wasn’t going to budge (even if he was plainly in the wrong.) This was an intercourse the two had shared since Matina was old enough to speak. Lamor always thought he was meant to be in charge, and now that he was given the reigns, it was obvious that he would argue against her no matter her stance on the matter. Matina was sure that with SmallJon expiring, Lamor had all kinds of ideas on the manner of how house Umber should be led, but she knew better. Let Lamor play at court; there was always two ways to skin a dog after all. That bitch; Sansa wasn’t going to speak to her in such a way without consequence of that much Matina planned to ensure.

Throughout this exchange, Jareth just listened on with clear amusement, and when Matina pulled her horse back and heatedly rode back up the hill in an obvious huff, he drew his horse over to sidle next to Lamor watching her go with a small cuckle, “Well you sure stirred up a hornet’s nest there!”